Have you experienced the cosmic? It’s okay, you can whisper it, gently, here in my ear. I believe you. I’ve felt it, too.
The destiny of arriving in an unknown city to discover your ideal habitat, prepared for you in secret so you could thrive in freedom. The concert conducting lightning so sacred you can hear the seraphim singing. The person who sees you like no one else can, when all this time you thought you were alone in the world. Your whole body crackling with homecoming, a golden thread tying your soul to another.
Has the cosmic ever betrayed you? The thread transmutes to barbwire. Your city breaks its promise, rendering itself a stranger. The risk you sent boldly flying at God’s friendly urging falls short and crumples underfoot.
All my life, I've sought the cosmic. The places and people who feel so right that all the waiting was worth it.
“Is there someone else?”
“No. No. But there is the dream of someone else.”
Hope is what keeps us alive. But the longer I live, the more reasons I have to distrust it. More reasons to hold God responsible. To doubt the times I heard his voice. Or thought I did? I am not to be trusted, and neither is he. The cosmic - that foolish feeling - still arrives unannounced, but my trust is long broken. It moves on quickly, sensing it isn’t welcome.
But the phantom limb of my reaching soul still shivers. My hasty amputation leaves me aching for what was lost. I miss the joyful folly of dreaming. The energizing indulgence of big feelings. The naïveté of hope. Or could it be strength? The courage to choose the unpredictable possibility of wonder, the slim chance of mysteries revealed. To chase what could be. To see pain as proof of life. A pinch to convince I’m alive, not dreaming.
Oh cosmic, I’m sorry. I’ll search for you again.
"bodies fashioned out of dirt and dust / for a moment we get to be glorious” - Four by Sleeping At Last